“About what?”
“If I told you here, it wouldn’t be private, would it?”
Leading the way to a small meeting room, Shelby waited until Coral walked in, then shut the door. “All right. What’s this about?”
“I saw you outside with Patrick Rivers last week. The two of you looked very cozy.”
“I saw you watching us. Does that make us even?”
“Don’t be flippant.”
Folding her arms, Shelby raised her chin. “Say what you came to say.”
“Tell him to get out of town.”
“Why should I?”
“The longer he stays here, the more the old gossip gets raked up and spread around. My fiancé Wendell is running for mayor next term. This kind of thing can hurt his career.”
“Patrick might have been gone by now if someone hadn’t misplaced the deed to his parents’ property.”
“He shouldn’t profit from anything in Loomis.”
Shaking her head sadly at Coral’s animosity, Shelby did what she should have done back in college. “I don’t know what your reason was for lying ten years ago, but enough damage has been done. Tell the truth.”
Coral’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Speak up and clear Patrick’s name. You owe him that.”
Coral’s gaze crackled with fury. “He’s guilty. He drugged me and took advantage of me.”
“Coral, I was at the party, remember? I overheard you say you were going home with Patrick no matter what it took. I don’t know what happened later, but I know you had your sights set on being with him that night.”
He might have been a good football player but his family was white trash. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m not sure. I thought it was because you liked him. He was a football star, and you liked the limelight. If that wasn’t the reason then tell me what was.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything. And if you breathe a word of that ridiculous story to anyone, you’ll regret it.”
Coral shouldered past Shelby and yanked open the door. Glancing back, she said, “This job is an appointment by the mayor. The next mayor can replace you. Remember that before you go spreading lies about me.”
Shelby followed Coral to the doors as she marched out of the building. Chuck, begging money at the foot of the stairs, moved rapidly out of Coral’s way. He looked up at Shelby with wide wild eyes. The poor little man looked even thinner than he had when she’d seen him the other day.
Walking down the steps, she asked gently, “Mr. Peters, have you been to see Reverend Harmon?”
Casting frantic glances in all directions, he shook his head and sidled closer. “You’re in danger, Miss Shelby,” he said in a loud whisper. He seemed truly frightened.
Fear crept up her spine, making her mouth dry and her heart race. “What are you talking about?”
He became ever more agitated, wringing his hands as he scanned the area. “I see things. I know things. You ain’t safe.”
“Are you saying someone wants to hurt me? Who?”
He took a step closer. “Did you tell where I was? Did you?”
“No. I didn’t tell anyone.” She moved toward the door, wishing she had availed herself of Wendy’s mace.
“Don’t go near the old Renault place,” he shouted. “There’s evil out in that swamp.”
With that, he clamped his mouth shut and hurried away, his head bowed, his hands thrust deep in his pockets as if making himself a smaller target.
Shelby watched with relief as he disappeared into the park. Her pounding heart slowed. For the first time in her life, she had been truly frightened of the little man. Had she been wrong to assume he was harmless?
Why did he want her to stay away from the old Renault place? The crumbling ruin of a mansion at the edge of town was where Dylan Renault had been murdered. Angelina Loring’s body had been discovered in the swamp nearby. Shelby certainly had no intention of prowling the property.
Were Chuck’s frightening ramblings the result of his drinking, or did he really know something?
Patrick pulled to a stop on the quiet side street beside the library a few minutes before eight o’clock. The gray twilight was fading into darkness as low swirls of fog crept in from the swamp. The air hung heavy and thick with the damp smell of the bayou.
Turning off his bike, he sat and stared at the large brick building. Light poured from the wide arching windows behind the row of blooming dogwood trees.
The thought that he was making a fool of himself occurred to him yet again, but he wrestled it out of his way.
Opening one of his saddlebags, he removed a package he’d brought from the house. It was his way of apologizing to Shelby for his unkind remarks. She would never know how much he wanted to kiss her that day.
She would have slapped his face.
Or maybe not. He was more attracted to her than anyone he’d ever met. Which didn’t make a bit of sense. A woman like her with a man like him? It would never work.
But she believed he was innocent.
He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that. Her faith in him was mind-boggling. He didn’t know how to deal with it. One part of him said, “Get out of town before you hurt her.” The other part of him wanted to stay and explore the sense of wonder he felt when he was near her.
His mouth twisted into a grimace. He was better at running than he was at staying.
Tucking the package under one arm, he started toward the building. As he did, he caught sight of someone near the rear of the structure.
The thick branches of the trees and the growing darkness obscured his view, but something about the furtive behavior of the individual made him stop to take a second look. When he did, the figure retreated around the corner and vanished.
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. The memory of the snake at Shelby’s feet propelled him forward to get a closer look.
Walking beneath the trees toward the back of the building, Patrick ducked under some of the low branches. The thick green grass underfoot was littered with white petals and muffled the sound of his footsteps. When he rounded the far corner of the library, he scanned the nearly empty parking lot. There was no one in sight.
On impulse, he checked the rear door. It was locked. Taking a step back, he scanned the windows. None of them looked disturbed.
Should he tell Shelby about this?
Tell her what? That I saw someone walking behind the building to a public parking lot? That not a crime.
Paranoia must seep up out of the ground in Loomis.
Shaking his head, he started back the way he had come. Returning to the front entrance, he climbed the steps reluctantly. This would be his last visit. The less he saw of Shelby Mason before he left town, the better it would be for the both of them.
She was a settle-down, white-picket-fence, church-on-Sunday kind of woman. He was none of those things.
And even if he might want a life like that someday, it wouldn’t be here.
At five minutes before eight, the mayor and the five library board members were already gathered in the small meeting room adjacent to the area where Shelby and Wendy held story time. Charla had arrived a few moments before. Tonight she was minus her dog, but she had her driver, Bosworth, attending her.
Wendy was busy offering refreshments and visiting with the group. From the doorway, Shelby heard her ask the mayor point-blank if the Mother’s Day Festival was being canceled. He assured her it was not. His assertion that this year’s event was going to be the biggest and most successful ever rang slightly hollow.
Their conversation gave Shelby a few more minutes to compose herself. She had rehearsed her presentation a number of times, but she went over it once more. It had to be perfect. So much was riding on it.
Pressing her hands together, she paced behind the counter. “We would welcome the chance. No, we welcome the opportunity to develop a collection dedicated to identifying and pro
moting research into the history and peoples of Loomis, St. Tammany Parish and all of Louisiana.”
She bit her thumbnail. Did that sound too pretentious?
Dropping her hand, she continued. “By actively seeking out and preserving books, maps and manuscripts at our library, we could provide the residents of Loomis with a unique glimpse into their history. Such a center would also attract to our town visitors seeking genealogy information. Visitors who would improve our local economy by increased tourism spending.”
The sound of clapping made her whirl around. Patrick stood just inside the doorway, watching her. “The tourism spending part is a good touch.”
At the sight of his crooked smile, her nervous butterflies settled. A warm glow of happiness filled her. He was here. She had at least one more chance to spend time with him before he left town.
“You don’t think it’s too much?”
He walked forward. “No, it sounds great.”
Looking down, she acknowledged that his simple presence made her heart race, but nothing about her tangled emotions were simple. She liked this man way too much for her own good.
It was time to let her rational mind steer her heart, not the other way around.
So much stood between them. His lack of faith, his disdain for the town and the people she loved. Plus, he’d soon be riding off into the sunset without a backward glance.
Allowing herself to become more involved was a sure path to heartbreak.
Keep it casual, Shelby Sue. Be smart.
“Thanks for the kind words. What brings you in so late?” She busied herself with gathering together various pieces of paper scattered across the countertop.
“I knew it was your big night.” He pushed a package wrapped in plain brown paper across the counter toward her.
“What is this?” Reaching out, she drew it close.
“Open it and see.”
Slipping a finger beneath the corner of the paper, she carefully pried up the tape. “I love getting presents. Did someone tell you that?”
“I made a wild guess.”
Pulling aside the wrapping, she stared at the Memoirs of Sadie Winslow and two of the journals dated from before the Civil War.
“Patrick, these are some of the most valuable books in your mother’s collection. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“First, you pester me for them, and now you’re not sure you want to accept them? Woman, make up your mind.”
Smiling, Shelby clutched them to her chest. “I do want them. Thank you so much. I’ll get you a receipt as soon as I have them appraised.”
“No receipt. They’re for you, not for the library. If you want to start a research center with them, that’s up to you.”
Sighing, she said, “I don’t know how to thank you.” Sudden tears threatened. Remaining casual had never been so hard.
Just then Wendy came hurrying down the aisle toward them. “Shelby, they’ll be ready for y’all in a few minutes. I think everyone is settled.”
Holding up the books, Shelby forced herself to smile at her cousin. “Look what Patrick gave us.”
“Gave you,” he corrected.
“Gave me, and I’m donating them to the Dylan Renault Research Center for Loomis History and Genealogy.”
“Which we won’t have unless you get in that room and wow the old battle-ax.”
“Wendy!” Shelby tried to sound appalled but barely managed to suppress a chuckle.
“I know, I’m sorry. Come wow our potentially magnanimous benefactor.”
“All right.” Stepping through the gate in the counter, Shelby paused to glance at Patrick. “You’re welcome to come to the meeting. It is open to the public, although guests are rare.”
She made the offer but didn’t expect him to accept. He wasn’t a boardroom-meeting kind of guy.
“I really should get going.”
“Of course. Thanks again for these.” She patted the books she still clutched. “They’ll be wonderful additions to our library even if we don’t get Mrs. Renault’s money. Goodbye, Mr. Rivers.”
“I liked it better when you called me Patrick,” he said, and smiled.
Would she see him again? Gripping her lower lip between her teeth, Shelby turned away to follow Wendy.
When they were out of Patrick’s earshot, Wendy leaned close. “Men as handsome and dangerous as that one should have to wear big yellow caution signs ’round their necks.”
“That only helps if you’re smart enough to read the sign.”
“True. I wish he’d go away before he breaks your heart.”
Tears stung Shelby’s eyes at the deep concern on her cousin’s face. “My heart’s okay, but thank you for caring.”
The door to the meeting room opened and Mrs. Carmichael, the library chairperson, came out. “I’m excited about your proposal, Miss Mason. I do hope Charla is as well. I’ll be right back, ladies.”
“Oh, great,” Wendy muttered. “He’s coming this way again.”
Shelby turned to see Patrick walking toward them.
He grinned at Wendy’s sour stare. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll stay for the meeting after all.”
Sniffing once, Shelby decided a quick side trip to the ladies’ room was in order for her, too. She needed a little more time to compose herself and to splash some cold water on her heated face. Pleading her case coherently with both Mrs. Renault and Patrick in the room would take a lot of poise.
Please, Lord, let me do this right.
Starting toward the ladies’ room, she was startled when the door flew open and Mrs. Carmichael burst out. “Someone call the police! There’s been a break-in!”
Holding open the door to the restroom, she gestured inside. The tall, narrow window stood open. A message was scrawled in peach lipstick across the oval mirror above the sinks.
I’m watching you, Shelzie. I’ll know if you talk.
EIGHT
“It’s a simple case of vandalism. I don’t know what the fuss is about. The police should be concentrating on my son’s murder, not wasting time investigating a harmless prank.” Mrs. Renault folded her hands in her lap and gave Deputy Olson a pointed glare.
“I don’t think the pranks were meant to be harmless.” Patrick had only to look at Shelby’s face to realize how upset and frightened she was.
The group was seated around a conference table in the meeting room. Two deputies had made a sweep of the building but found nothing unusual. One had gone outside to check the grounds while Deputy Olson took everyone’s statements.
Mrs. Carmichael shivered. “To think, he was right in there. He could have attacked any one of us.”
Shelby rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Or she. One of the children called me Shelzie. Sarah corrected him. Someone who was here that day wrote this note.”
Patrick wanted to reach out and gather her close. Against his better judgment he wanted to hold her, take away her fear, protect her. “Who might have overheard that remark?”
“You, Wendy, Mrs. Renault, at least a dozen women and their children. Wendell Bixby’s sister and his niece were there. So was your granddaughter, Mr. Mayor. Barb Tibbs and her boys, I don’t know who else.”
“Was there anyone you didn’t know in the group?” the deputy asked.
Shelby bit her fingernail as she shook her head, then looked at Wendy.
Her cousin shrugged. “There was one new woman with two kids. I don’t know her name. I don’t know who else was in the building at the time. I really wasn’t paying attention. I do remember opening the window because it was such a nice morning. Someone lurking outside could have overheard the children.”
Charla turned her wheelchair to face the officer. “This is going nowhere. I don’t see why I’m being detained. I’d like to go now.”
“I have a few more questions.” Deputy Olson consulted the notebook in his hand.
“It looks as if whoever did this came in through the window. The screen is lying on the gro
und outside. It would help if we could narrow down the time it happened. Miss Mason, when was the last time anyone used the room?”
“I can’t be sure. I was in there about seven o’clock because a patron told me the sink was stopped up.”
“And the window was closed then?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Were any of you ladies in there after that time?”
Wendy held up her hand. “I went in about a quarter to eight. I know the window was closed, and there was nothing on the mirror.” Leaning forward, Wendy asked, “Mrs. Renault, didn’t I see you go in after that?”
“I did. I don’t recall if the window was open, but there wasn’t any writing on the mirror.”
The deputy jotted a note. “What time was that?”
Charla lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Perhaps seven-fifty.”
“That’s about when I saw someone lurking at the back of the building,” Patrick interjected. “I checked the back door and it was locked. None of the windows were open.”
Charla raised an eyebrow. “So you say, Mr. Rivers. A good way to explain your fingerprints at the scene. We have only your word that you saw someone. These episodes at the library all began after you arrived in town.”
He smiled without warmth. “The only evidence I can offer in my defense is that peach lipstick isn’t really my shade. Is it yours?”
The Renault matriarch’s mouth flew open, then snapped shut. “Well, I never!”
It was plain her preferred shade was deep crimson, but Patrick couldn’t resist taunting her.
Mrs. Carmichael said, “It looked like the same shade you’re wearing, Miss Mason. It’s not pink, it’s more apricot. It’s most becoming. I know how hard it is to find a good shade when you have red hair.” Her voice trailed off.
“There!” Charla announced. “Miss Mason could have written the note herself in a pathetic attempt to gain attention.”
“I did not!” Shelby shot back.
“Okay, folks,” the mayor quickly intervened. “Let’s not get into an argument. It appears nothing was stolen or damaged. All we have is a little graffiti that can be easily removed and a broken window screen.”
A Cloud of Suspicion Page 8